Page 60 of Immaculate Corruption (Romanoff Bratva)

“Come on out, Dima. We know you’re there.”

I close my eyes for a moment at the sudden voice. My worst fears confirmed.

It’s a fucking set-up.

I stand up, gun in my hand, and see another figure has emerged at the end of the bar.

Zotov Stepanov.

After so many weeks of chasing after him, it feels like I’m staring at a ghost.

“Put your gun down and come over here,” he says. “It’s been a long time.” Zotov talks with the confidence of a much older, much more powerful man. He sure as fuck hasn’t earned it.

I scowl when I see him. He’s wearing a double-breasted suit like he’s fucking Al Capone. I can’t express how much I want to shoot him between the eyes.

I have my gun. I could do it.

But I’m certain he has backup. No doubt there are men hidden around the perimeter of the room, guns trained on me.

I can’t take a shot at him unless I’m ready for people to take shots at me.

And I’m not quite ready to go down in a blaze of glory.

“Come on,” Zotov urges. “Come on out.”

I grit my teeth and move forward. “I’m going to hold onto my gun, thanks.”

Zotov nods. “I’d expect nothing less. If it makes you feel more comfortable, then go ahead. Though I’d caution you against using it.”

“Oh, you would? And why would I give a single fuck what you have to say?”

I’m hoping I can goad Zotov into revealing his hand. How many men are in this building? How many guns? Do I have any fucking chance?

Giorgio spins around in his stool, sagging eyes fixed on me. “Because you killed my son and I’d be more than happy to watch you become target practice.”

“Easy,” Zotov warns the old man. “We’re getting to that.”

“My son isn’t an item on your goddamn agenda,” he snaps.

“No, I took care of that already,” I deadpan. I take pleasure in how Giorgio flinches—even though, deep in my own chest, I feel an echo of that pain.

A father who’s lost his son. The agony must be horrific.

Zotov tuts. “Dima, that is in very poor taste.”

“I came here to kill him,” I say, gesturing at Giorgio, “and I very much plan to kill you, too. I think good taste is behind us, Zotov. Particularly once you put a target on my infant son’s back.”

He shrugs. “Leverage is leverage, okay? You know that. It’s just business.”

“Goddamn it,” I growl. “I’m so fucking tired of hearing that. Business can be personal. When your business involves harming my child, that’s personal. When your business involves ripping away my family’s legacy, that’s very fucking personal.”

“Still,” Zotov demurs, “I’m not doing it because I dislike you. Or your son. I’m sure he’s a lovely little boy. I’m doing it because I want power and you have it. Well, youhadit. Now, I do.”

“Do you want to get to the point?” I snap. “What are you doing here? If you’re going to kill me, do it before you literally bore me to death. Or, better yet…” I raise my gun and step towards him, tired of waiting for the inevitable. “… I’ll just kill you right now.”

Zotov claps his hands. “You’re right. Time to get to the point. Would you mind taking out your phone and calling the number of the elderly woman with whom you left your son?”

I freeze. I don’t react, but I go perfectly still, trying to work through what this means.

---